


Meryl Meme Drabbles

by kitnkabootle



Category: Doubt (2008), Falling In Love - Fandom, Meryl Streep - Fandom, The Bridges of Madison County - All Media Types, The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:58:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitnkabootle/pseuds/kitnkabootle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several Meryl Streep movies in drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meryl Meme Drabbles

**Falling in Love** – _Requested by ubiquitousmixie with prompt ‘Set past end of the movie’_

Frank didn't remember much after the train. They'd ridden it until his usual stop, he recalled, but couldn't seem to piece together how they'd made it from the train to the house. His family house, draped in dust covers with a sign marked 'For Sale' written in bold type across it.

They hadn't said anything since the train and when they entered the dark house, Frank had pushed Molly against the door to close it, reveling in the feel of his lips at her throat.

She tasted as he'd remembered those months back when she had pulled away from him. He'd wanted her more than he ever thought possible, and now his want overcame him.

Molly let out a soft moan as she slid her fingers up his arms, around the back of his neck. He hadn't missed the absence of a ring on her finger, and she hadn't missed it on his.

Finally they were free to be in captivity - and it was exquisite.  
\-----

 

 **The Bridges of Madison County** – _Requested by surena_13 with the prompt “What would happen if Francesca left her husband for Robert?”_

Her fingers are on the door handle. She breathes.

She can feel her tears pooling under her eyes, running down her cheek bones, soaking into her jacket. Her fingers tighten. He is there in front of them. Robert. Robert is there, waiting for her. The light on his car is flashing. She breathes.

He will not stay. She can't say goodbye. She can't let him leave.

Before she knows what she's doing she is out of the car, her feet splashing in the puddles on the road, soaking through her shoes - but she cannot feel it. She can hear her husband calling after her, and she can hear the sound of the truck door opening behind her.

She stops breathing.

When she arrives at the passenger door of the truck, it is open. Robert has opened it and he is sitting across from her, his hand extended. She closes her fingers around his and he pulls her inside. His arm slides around her waist, and he draws her against him. Then they are driving.

Francesca's heart is beating faster than it ever has before. Her children, her husband, her farm in Iowa. All of it sacrificed for a love she has waited too long for.

Finally she is living. She breathes.  
\-----

 

_**Doubt** – Requested by somniesperus with the prompt being “Spectacles”_

It was a frigidly cold day in winter when they pulled Sister Aloysius’ frozen body out of the icy waters of the Harlem River .

Her black bonnet had pulled loose and Sister James could never remember, in all of her twenty–four years, seeing anyone so beautiful. Her hair was so blond that it resembled threads of silver, splayed across the crisp grass; a halo around her pale flesh.

Sister James thought of all of things never said. She thought of times past; of the impossibly soft hand in hers and the sound of Sister Aloysius' breath in the still of the wintry garden. She thought of eyes she could never see from and a heart she would never know.

How could He take her from her? How did He not understand?

With shaking fingers, Sister James removed the circular spectacles from the bridge of the older woman’s nose and folded the wire arms in the palm of her hand.

She kneeled with her fingers closed around them, trapping them within white knuckles - and prayed to a God she could never forgive.

\-----

 

 **The Devil Wears Prada** – _Requested by dragonwine with the prompt being “Leather and Lace”_

The silver haired vixen in the form hugging black dress sat behind a wooden desk, her four inch heels connecting slender legs from hips to floor.

A cigarette with lipstick marring the filter sat perched in the ashtray, the paper burning back upon itself leaving a trail of greying dust drooping in its wake.

The door burst open and a lone figure strode in, followed by four men who took the surrendering guards at either side of Miranda with ease. Then as quickly as it happened they retreated, leaving only the figure in a pin-striped suit and white fedora. The figure stood just in front of Miranda’s desk; willing the woman to back down with a fixed stare.

When Miranda didn’t move, the figure removed its hat, spilling silky dark hair around her shoulders. She lifted the cold metal barrel to Miranda’s flexing temple, and reached her hand up Miranda’s stocking-clad leg, beneath the tight material, to pluck a small silver gun out of a black lace garter.

The woman bent over Miranda, her lips near the shell of Miranda’s ear as the woman bound her wrists with a taught leather strip and turned the gun back on her.

“You’re mine, Priestly.” Andrea whispered hotly.

\-----

 **Bridges/DWP Crossover** - _Requested by melanacious with prompt following, Emily/Aloysius was impossible for me but I hope you like your initial suggestion - >"What would have been great would have been a Bridges/DWP Xover - Andy and Francesca."_

 

Francesca sat on the steps of the farm house, her eyes moving across the tall blades of grass that bent and ebbed with the currant of the breeze. There was work to be done - there always was - but she found herself enjoying the afternoon alone.

Her lemonade was cool and she held it up to her throat, the condensation beading along the glass, transferring to her neck and making its way in a shallow stream towards her collarbone. It felt wonderful.

There was a sound at the end of the drive, Francesca could hear it right away and she stood, abandoning her lemonade on the wooden stair and moving her hand to shield the sun from her eyes.

A truck bumbled along the dirt drive, the dust swirling from its tires and speckling the air in a shower of gold. She didn't recognize the vehicle or the person inside, but eventually the truck stuttered to a halt and the young woman climbed out of the passenger seat, looking over the hood. "I... I'm sorry. I seem to be lost."

Francesca crossed towards the beautiful woman with the chestnut coloured hair and sparkling brown eyes. Instantly she felt inferior. The woman looked well-put together and spoke with a proper American accent. She sounded educated and intelligent despite being caught in unfamiliar surroundings and Francesca couldn't help but run her dirtied hands down the front of her dress nervously, before offering the girl a polite smile. "Are you supposed to be in Iowa?"

The girl blinked, looking around slowly and then back at the woman, the joke lost in favour of the predicament "Yes."

"Well then you're not that lost." Francesca replied.

The woman smiled and Francesca felt something unfamiliar flutter inside her stomach.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Posted on LiveJournal - May 6th, 2009


End file.
